


IX. Dean Winchester

by ShadowCas



Series: Where Do We Go From Here? (SPN Hiatus Creations 2019) [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Again, Betaed, Can't Catch Me Gay Thoughts, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean is a stressed boi, Fear and Self Loathing in the Bunker, Injured Castiel (Supernatural), Long coda, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Season/Series 15, SPN Hiatus Creations 2019, Sam Winchester Knows, Week 9, Worried Dean Winchester, Zombie attack, coda series, food run gone bad, oops nevermind, what a surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 05:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19920763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowCas/pseuds/ShadowCas
Summary: After a food run gone bad, Cas is left in bad shape, and Dean is going crazy with worry. As Alex does her best to heal his best friend, Dean is forced to come to terms with feelings that he's been pushing down for a long time. And even more startling: he's going to have to decide what he wants for himself in this life.





	IX. Dean Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to sweetness47 for beta-ing!

“Drive!” Dean barks, barely glancing up as he shoves the sticky, red keys into his brother’s hands. But when Sam just stares at him with wide eyes, he snaps to attention. “Goddamnit, Sam, _drive_.”

“O-okay,” Sam says shakily, fumbling with them before turning over the engine. Tires squeal as he shifts out of reverse and speeds onto the main road.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dean mutters, pressing down. He’s not even entirely sure if he’s putting pressure where’s it’s meant to be, with all the blood bubbling up through Cas’s shirt. “Cas, you with me? C’mon, buddy.” He can almost feel the constricting sensation of fear latch in his throat, but he pushes it back down. There’s no time for panic; Cas needs him to have a cool head right now.

Cas’s head lolls to the other side, but his eyes roll lazily open for a moment to regard Dean from their corners. “I’m with you,” Cas whispers, all breath and no tone in his voice.

This small reassurance has a minimal effect on Dean. “Shit.” He pulls Cas onto his lap, making sure to keep his head upright. He’s not sure what the best course of action is here, but keeping Cas conscious seems like a sane enough goal. “Where the hell did it even come from?” Dean demands, angrily thinking back to the zombie that caused this. “The first one, I mean.”

“Under the car, I think,” Sam splutters. He throws a glance to the backseat. “Is Cas—?”

“Bunker,” is the only response that Dean can offer. Because honestly, he doesn’t know where Cas stands right now. He only knows that his best shot is immediate medical attention.

“Grabbed me from underneath as I was closing th’ trunk,” Cas slurs, and it takes Dean a second to realize he’s still talking about the first zombie that pulled him to the ground after they finished loading food into the car. “Don’t know where the others…”

“From the other side of the building,” Dean says, stroking Cas’s hair back without a second thought. “It was one of them that got your blade. And they turned it around on you, and—”

“I know.” Cas tilts his head down clumsily to look at his bloody shirt. “Did I get bitten?”

“Dunno,” Dean says nervously. He sure hopes that there aren’t bites to deal with on top of everything else. Cas’s last run-in with zombie bites had ended poorly, after all. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Mmm. Don’t think so,” Cas says. He begins to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and Dean quickly helps him to open it to assess the damage. Together, they pull his undershirt up to his chin.

From what Dean can see, there are no bites, but that does little to calm him when there’s still so much blood. Still, he swallows down his fear once more and tells Cas, “Yeah, I don’t see any. Just — just the cuts.”

As far as he can tell, they’re two big ones. One traces from the edge of Cas’s collarbone across to the opposite shoulder, and the other is a jagged line down his stomach. There’s also a stab under his ribs, but thankfully, not through any major organs.

Dean isn’t really sure how the mechanics of that work, and where exactly the line is between injury and _death_ by angel blade, but he’s just gonna count his blessings and not wonder too hard.

Cas seems to be in the same line of thought. “I’d’ve thought it’d kill me. It’s a miracle,” he remarks and chuckles to himself. He winces at the effort, but looks up at Dean and repeats, “A miracle,” as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever thought of.

Dean nods and gives him a tight smile, just to humor him. He doesn’t find it funny at all.

When they swerve into the Bunker driveway, Dean feels like it’s been years since they left, but also just a blink of the eye. He’s of a single mindset as soon as the car rolls to stop, and that’s to get Cas looked at right away.

It’s very fortunate that he and Sam operate on a similar wavelength when it comes to moments of crisis. With just a look, Sam knows exactly what he needs to do: he opens the door for Dean, helps him lift Cas out of the car, and once Cas is situated in Dean’s arms, enters the Bunker and begins shouting for Alex. Dean follows him in, trying not to be distracted as people jump aside to give them room, eyes wide as they take in Cas’s bleeding form.

“How the hell did this happen?” Jody demands, coming up beside him to take some of Cas’s weight. Dean knows it’s not fully meant to be a scolding tone, but he still feels like he’s a kid who’s just been caught stealing candy.

Which, honestly, is kind of what they were doing when this all went down.

He just shakes his head. “Food run,” he spits out, and now that he says it aloud, it sounds like a stupid excuse. Thankfully, Jody doesn’t press, and she helps lay Cas out as Alex rushes in. Sam, Patience, and Claire are with her, each carrying medical supplies. Sam stays right behind her, staring at Cas. Patience retreats as quickly as possible, and Claire helps set up, throwing the occasional worried glance in Cas’s direction.

“Cause of injury?” Alex asks. Dean is grateful for the all-business tone, though a little thrown off by it.

“Uhh, zombies ambushed us and…” Alex is giving him a look. “What?”

“What _weapon_ did this?” she clarifies. He blinks stupidly. “Dean.”

Sam jumps in to save him. “Angel blade.” He shoots Dean a look, too, though this one is more of concern than of judgement. Dean shakes his head and scrunches his eyes shut. _Get it together,_ he lectures himself. _Don’t be a fucking dumbass right now._

“Okay, I’m gonna do stitches and maybe butterfly bandages on this one if it’s shallow enough. Cas, are you awake?”

Cas gives a little groan of acknowledgement, but no more than that.

“He’s practically out,” she says, shaking her head. “Might need blood. Do angels even take blood?” she asks, looking to Sam once more for the answers.

“Uh, not sure. Definitely doesn’t hurt, but I have no clue if it’ll help.”

“Claire, grab me a bag,” Alex orders. “Don’t suppose you know his—”

“B negative,” Dean says, practically on autopilot.

“Okay.” Alex gets set up and checks Cas’s vitals.

“Patience,” Dean says. He knows he’ll regret this, but he has to know. “Can you, you know… see anything?”

She shakes her head, forehead creased apologetically. “No, I’m sorry. There are too many possibilities. I can’t focus—”

“Okay, how ‘bout just one thing?” he pleads. He breathes in deep, steeling himself. “Are there any where… where he doesn’t make it?”

Patience scrunches her eyes closed and tries to focus. He can see her pupils moving behind her lids as she sorts through visions. “No, not that I see,” she says, and Dean throws a hand to his chest, thanking the universe. “I mean, nothing’s certain, but I think with Alex, he’ll pull through.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” Dean says thickly, and claps her on the shoulder. She looks grateful to leave the makeshift operating room, and Dean almost feels bad for keeping her, but Patience’s lack of disastrous visions is about the only thing keeping him close to sane.

Claire returns with a bag of blood. “Claire, Jody, stay here and help,” Alex instructs. “The rest of you, stop hovering.” Dean takes a few steps back, but apparently, that doesn’t satisfy Alex. “That means ‘out,’” she says.

“But—” Dean starts to protest, but Sam grabs him by the elbow and takes him out of the room with him. “Cas.” Dean tries to go back, but Sam’s grip is firm. “Cas!”

Dean wakes up in a cold sweat.

The first thing he thinks in his half-conscious state is, _Oh, thank Death herself, it was just a dream._ But as his senses return to him, so does an anxious wriggling in his gut. The memories flood back to him, and the brief sense of relief he got from waking up dissipates as he realizes that he’s been recalling the day’s events.

It _is_ real. His dumb ass allowed Cas to get hurt, and now all he can do is wait.

Well, he’s not going to get any more sleep, anyways. Not more than the three or so restless hours that he previously forced himself into. He throws the covers off of him and leaves his room to go splash some water on his face.

He’s surprised to find Sam up in the kitchen, a half-empty bottle of beer in front of him. 

“Can’t sleep either?” Sam asks, and Dean numbly shakes his head.

Sam nods thoughtfully and draws in a sip of beer. “Mph,” he sounds, swallowing. He holds up the bottle. “Want one?”

“No,” Dean all but cries. He takes in a sharp breath. “No. Can’t.” He knows where the beer is from; at some point, Sam had handed off the Impala’s keys to Donna, and a group of hunters had helped bring in the food from their raid. “Can’t let good food go to waste in the Apocalypse,” they had reasoned, as distasteful as it may have seemed. Dean had pushed down the urge to vomit as they glowed over what a “successful” mission it was. Yes, they now had plenty of toiletries in addition to cans upon cans of soup, beans, and vegetables, as well as dried meat, packaged snacks, soda, water, and alcohol, but none of it was worth the cost.

“Did I miss anything?” Dean asks.

“Nope. Same as when you went to bed. He’s holding steady, but still asleep.”

Dean lets out a sigh, and he’s not quite sure whether it’s from relief or disappointment. Maybe both.

He wipes a hand down his face. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“We’re all worried, Dean,” Sam reassures him.

“Yeah, no. I know. That’s not — it’s just.” He stops, regathering his thoughts. “This whole fucking thing is my fault.”

“What? No,” Sam protests. “Why would you even say that?”

“Because it’s true,” Dean says with a scowl. “Dammit, Sam, you said it yourself. It was a bad idea to go out just the three of us. That we should’ve gotten backup. And then I had to insist on it just being us three, and—”

“Whoa, Dean. Slow down,” Sam says. “Look, I wasn’t being serious. If anything, I just suggested it so Jody wouldn’t get pissed at us for going off on our own without warning. I didn’t think we’d run into trouble.” Sam purses his lips. “It was a freak thing. We couldn’t have predicted it.”

“I pushed us into this,” Dean insists. And maybe he’s being stubborn, but he feels justified in that. After all, he is beating up on _himself_ , and it’s well-deserved. “With the whole needing space thing and wanting to get back on the road. Come on, Sam, you know how Cas is. He can’t say no if you whine enough.”

Sam side-eyes him and corrects, with a smirk, “He can’t say no to _you_ if you whine enough.”

All Dean can do is gape at him, all air stolen out of his lungs.

Sam’s eyes go almost comically wide. “Sorry. Crap. Bad timing.”

“Shit,” Dean mutters, and sinks down into a chair. He scrunches his eyes. “Yeah.”

He silently begs Sam to not mention his and Cas’s dynamic any further. Sam seems to pick up on whatever vibrations he’s giving off, because he clears his throat and shifts gears. “He’ll be okay. He always pulls through, and Alex is looking after him.”

“Yeah. I know.”

The brothers fall into silence, and Dean tries not to think about how much Sam knows the true nature of his relationship with Cas. He’s always tried to be as secretive about it as possible, but then again, subtlety has never been his strong suit. At the very least, this is new territory, with Sam so candidly pointing out the tension between them.

The thought bothers Dean enough to bring him back to the uncomfortable subject. “So, me and Cas. How much have I—? I mean, how did you…?” He’s not sure exactly what to ask, and he trails off lamely.

“Oh, uh…” Sam looks taken aback to actually have been asked the question. He frowns in thought. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that obvious, but I know you, Dean. Maybe better than I know myself. For a while, I’ve had the feeling that there was something. Cas, too, I could even pick up on.”

“Cas, too?” Dean asks, face flushing. He’s not totally oblivious; he knows that whatever he feels for Cas can’t be totally unrequited. After all, a person can only make so many sacrifices for one man before that man starts to wonder why. That being said, Dean always thought he was the only one to notice. He never even considered that someone else may have picked up on the unspoken _something_ between him and Cas.

Sam gives him a bitch face. “I’m not sure if that’s for me to say,” he says, which all but confirms that Dean’s suspicions are true.

“And… how do _you_ feel about it?” Dean asks, forcing his tone as casual as possible, and being totally unconvincing about it.

Sam actually has the nerve to look annoyed at him. “I don’t know why you don’t just do something about it. Either of you. What are you waiting for? The end of the world?” He runs a finger through the sweat of his beer bottle. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we’re kind of there already.”

Dean wishes he had a good explanation. All of his perfectly good reasons _not to_ just make it official seem to fall flat in this moment. After all, they’ve both had their fair share of near-death experiences, sometimes full-on _death_ experiences, but that never seems to spur them to get their shit together.

Maybe, he thinks, he just needed to hear someone else say it. To have a little confirmation that he hasn’t been making this whole thing up. That the way Cas feels about Dean is at least in the same ballpark as the way Dean feels about Cas.

Or maybe it’s because he’s finally reached a point in his life where he has to figure out what he wants.

Before he has more time to consider it, there are footsteps outside the kitchen. A tired-looking Alex walks in, which can only mean one of two things.

“Cas?” Dean rasps, and he hopes it’s enough to get the point across.

“He’s okay,” she assures him, taking a seat as Sam rises to get her a drink. “Drowsy and weak, but he’s awake.”

Dean draws in a refreshing breath through his nose. “Okay.” He focuses back in. “Claire still with him?”

“Nope, it was just me. He’s more than stable; he doesn’t need total supervision at this point. Just wanted to be there when he woke up for the first time.”

Dean is already standing. “Can I…?”

Alex quirks a small smile at him. “Yeah. Just don’t keep him up too long. He needs his rest.”

“Thank you,” he says, rushing out of the kitchen. He barely spares a second glance as Sam catches him in the doorway.

His brother gives him a meaningful look. “Do something about it, will you?” Sam asks, shaking his head fondly.

“We’ll see,” Dean says, trying not to give away that he’s seriously thinking about it at this point.

He finally gets to the medical room and hovers in the doorway. All things considered, Cas doesn’t look as bad as he’d expected. The blood has been cleaned up, he’s been bandaged, and he’s wearing a fresh t-shirt — one of Dean’s. Dean would’ve thought that he’d be paler, but some healthy color has already returned to his cheeks.

Dean sucks in a breath as he steps forward. Cas seems to be asleep again, and he doesn’t want to disturb him. Very gently, he brushes his hand against Cas’s, taking comfort in the fact that he is warm and alive. He can’t stop himself from lifting the hem of Cas’s shirt to check his wounds. Alex has done a good job — a _professional_ job — so much that Dean can’t even see a spot of blood seeping through the stark white bandages.

What does Dean want? Obviously, he wants Cas to get better. He wants him totally healed and on his feet again. But beyond that? What happens next? He hates to admit it, but Sam is right. What mystical opportunity is he waiting for? Is he really so afraid of happiness that he’s going to let Cas slip through his fingers again?

Cas mumbles and turns his head, and Dean freezes. However, Cas doesn’t seem to be awake. Dean lets out air he didn’t realize he was holding in. His hand finds Cas’s once more. This time, he strokes the back of Cas’s fingers, soft patterns across his knuckles.

“Shit, Cas, you scared me,” he mumbles. “Please, never do that again.” He dares to squeeze Cas’s hand in his, just a little. “Everytime I say I’d be a goner without you, I mean it. So stop almost dying, got it?” He sighs. “I got you into one helluva mess. I’m so sorry.”

His heart leaps into his throat as Cas squeezes his hand back. “Dean,” he murmurs.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Dean says, unable to keep gooey tenderness from seeping into his tone. “You good?”

Cas blinks open his eyes and spares a brief look downwards. “Nothing that a few days of rest won’t heal.” His face forms worried lines. “What about you and Sam? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

Dean shakes his head. He bites the inside of his cheek. “This is my fault.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I knew you’d say that. And no, it’s _not_.” His expression softens. “I’m alright, Dean. There’s no use in beating yourself up over it.”

He settles himself on the edge of the bed, still holding Cas’s hand. “I shouldn’t have said we should go. It was stupid.”

“It was _my_ idea,” Cas reminds him. “Don’t take credit,” he teases.

This time, Dean can’t find it in himself to laugh. He grips onto Cas’s hand as if it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. “I’m serious, Cas. I can’t lose you.” And he knows it’s true. This is the tipping point. He _can’t_ go through this again.

“Dean.” Cas’s hand tightens in his own, as if he can sense a change in the air around them. Dean shifts again, putting his other arm down for support so he can lean in closer to Cas. “What’s wrong?” Cas asks. “Did something else happen?”

“No. No,” Dean says, brushing the suggestion off. But he can’t hide from Cas, not anymore. “I just can’t keep doing this, Cas. I don’t want to run out of second chances.”

“Second chances?” Cas asks. “What do you mean by second—?”

Before Dean can chicken out again, he closes the rest of the distance between them and answers Cas’s question with a desperate kiss.


End file.
